One Man Two Guvnors at Haymarket Theatre Royal is as blissfully funny with its
new cast as it was with the original one.

THIS isn’t so much a review, more a message of reassurance. Those of you who have so far failed to see Richard Bean’s inspired comedy, based on an old commedia dell’arte piece by Carlo Goldoni, and set in the criminal underworld of Brighton in 1963, may be feeling you have missed the boat.

The original company of the National Theatre’s biggest hit since War Horse have packed their bags and gone to New York, where the show opens on Broadway next month. Without James Corden and his co-conspirators in helpless hilarity, the big question was whether the recast London production, which has now moved to the Haymarket, would still offer the same passport to comic bliss.

Reader, fear not. Even though this is the third time I have seen the award-winning show, I can confidently state that the new company members are the equal of their predecessors, and you still leave the theatre with aching ribs and a huge, goofy smile on your face.

Instead of going for another star name to replace Corden, the theatre has promoted his understudy, something that rarely happens in the theatre, but which proves entirely justified and genuinely heart-warming on this occasion.

I didn’t think it would be possible, but Owain Arthur proves Corden’s equal when it comes to playing the check-suited fatso Francis Henshall, who acquires two different bosses, an upper-class twit and a young woman disguised as her recently murdered twin brother (don’t ask).

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His hilarious monologues to the audience about his gnawing hunger and mounting confusion somehow seem even funnier when delivered in a Welsh accent that combines lugubrious self-pity with a singsong jauntiness. And like Corden he proves an absolute master at apparently spontaneous interaction with those members of the audience foolhardy enough to sit in the front row.

The rest of the newcomers are splendid, too, with especially winning work from Jodie Prenger as the plump book-keeper who tickles Henshall’s fancy; Ben Mansfield as a silly-ass murderer who comes over like a psychotic Bertie Wooster; Daniel Ings as a hilariously pretentious young actor; and Hannah Spearritt as one of the funniest and dumbest blondes it has been my privilege to encounter.

Nicholas Hytner’s production, complete with cracking skiffle band, often achieves an almost delirious comic momentum, and though the pace slows a little in the second half, there is by now so much happiness in the house that you barely notice.

The show’s unsung star, however, is Cal McCrystal, who has directed the amazing scenes of physical comedy. Laugh for laugh, the passage involving a doddery old waiter with a pacemaker who keeps falling down the stairs is the most blissfully funny sequence I have ever seen in a stage comedy, and Martin Barrass carries out his masochistic task to comic perfection.

Kevin Spacey, who has been bemoaning the cost of West End theatre tickets, would surely applaud the fact that seat prices start at a mere £15, with a far from outrageous top whack of £55. What are you waiting for? Book now.